Conversation in the Hills of Southern California

He said: the bougainvillea's pink, paper petals.
And she said: the night's bright scent
   from an orchard's orange blossoms.
He said: a ripe avocado, spread like butter on toast
in the morning; my fingers and the hint of ginger.
She said: a handful of freshly picked berries, my lips
 stained red by their juice; my tongue and its sweet-bud tip.
He said: all those peppers, all those chilies in the valley;
all that flesh growing hotter every day.
And she said: the taste of peaches. You've forgotten
that fruit so sweet, the way it drags the tears from your eyes.
Tunes on a Broken Harmonica
Britton Shurley

Tunes on a Broken Harmonica

Britton Shurley

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